


purple striped orange

by EyeOfKaleidoscope



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bullying, M/M, More tags to be added, Music, SO MANY LIBERTIES ALL THE LIBERTIES WITH CANON YOU WON'T EVEN RECOGNIZE IT WHEN I'M DONE, Synesthesia, Synesthetic!Yuuri, a lotta colors, i have no knowledge about ice skating whatsoever, i swear that this whole color thing has been proved with the openings, kidding but sorta not i mean it's kinda an au but i'll try to follow canon as much as possible, my attempts at fluff and angst, pre-series to canon compliant to future fic, some OC's please don't hate them they're very minor and more for plot than for anything else
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-08
Updated: 2017-11-23
Packaged: 2018-09-06 20:54:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 6,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8768893
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EyeOfKaleidoscope/pseuds/EyeOfKaleidoscope
Summary: "The music swells around him, and he sees more than he hears as colors bloom to life around him, droplets of blue splashing across golden backgrounds as a lush green valley spreads beneath his feet, flakes of red sparking to life with every clean cut his blades make across the ice, and he lives in the color."In which Yuuri hears in color and ice skating becomes a whole new world to him.(drabble-ish)





	1. maple leaves

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: I am not synesthetic, nor do I know anyone who has synesthesia. Therefore, this fic most definitely is not one hundred percent accurate. I am not attempting to paint synesthesia in a negative light in any sort of way-rather, the point of this fic is to explore the possible consequences of Yuuri being synesthetic. In changing the way his brain is wired, Yuuri as a person is essentially different. I want to experiment with his many different motivations, the new meanings that certain things (such as ice skating) take on for him, and, in general, how differently he interacts with the world at large. Obviously, synethesia isn't something to be taken lightly. It is not considered a mental disorder, but can easily be perceived as one. As a result, there will most definitely be occurrences of harassment and discrimination.
> 
> You have been warned.

When Katsuki Yuuri first realizes that he isn't normal, he's five years old.

He sits in the middle of the classroom, constantly surrounded by other five year old children, and from the time he's been born up until now, he's always thought that this is  _normal_.

"Yuuri-kun!" one of his classmates squeals as she bounds up to Yuuri's desk, smile wide and baring slightly crooked teeth. He can see a piece of leftover spinach stuck in between her two front teeth, even through the whorls of pale, fluffy orange, like crunchy autumn leaves in the sky, that paint their way across his vision. His name is orange, a pretty reddish orange that he's sure that everyone else is  _jealous_ of. "I keep telling  _all_ my friends that I saw you doing the splits in Minako-sensei's studio yesterday night, but they won't believe me!" She pushes her bottom lip out in a pout, a fog of pink and green replacing the whorls of orange his name had induced. "Would you  _pretty, pretty_ please do the splits so that I can show them?"

Yuuri nods shyly, a blush heating up his cheeks as he carefully stands up, making sure to not disturb the bento perched precariously atop his desk. His mother insists on making him a home-cooked meal every day, even though she already has loads of cooking to do for other guests. He can't complain, because he loves the orange gold sparkles that fly through the air every time she hands him the wrapped box with a cheery, "Be sure to eat it all, Yuuri!"

The girl beams brightly in response, grabbing onto his wrist and dragging him across the classroom, weaving around desks and spread legs. Yuuri holds on tightly as colors splash across his vision, words echoing in his head. He still gets disoriented after all this time. School never gets easier. He remembers the first day his mother carefully led him into his classroom, warm words of petal pink and rose gold flying through one ear and out the other. It was an explosion of color the moment he stepped inside, sharper than ever before because chubby legs are propelling toddlers across manufactured rugs and screams are erupting from swan necks.

Unlike the dull shimmering of car motors and TV droning and onsen bubbling, vibrant colors were first introduced into Yuuri's life, and he fainted.

He found music half a year later, whisked away into the fairyland that is Minako-sensei's ballet studio, and now colors are as much a part of him as his nose is or his ears or his butt. 

The girl comes to a stop in front of a group of girls and guys. One of them scowls, crossing her arms when she sees Yuuri peek out from around the girl's shoulder, brown eyes blinking owlishly at them. " _This_ guy? Hana-chan, there's no way that a  _fatso_ like him could do the splits if  _I_ can't!"

They burst into laughter, and Yuuri flinches back as pastel colors turn acidic. He doesn't like that word, he decides immediately, he doesn't like that word  _at all_.

_Fatso._

Is he really that fat?

As if sensing the direction his thoughts are turning, the girl tugs at his arm, pulling him out from behind her and pushing him in front. "You guys are all meanies! Yuuri-kun can do the splits! I've seen him in class!" Her encouragements are like honey, a deep, warm amber that sinks into Yuuri's bones as she flashes a smile at him, spinach still stuck in between her teeth. "Go on! You're not a fatso! Well, I mean, you kind of are, but I know that you can do the splits!"

Yuuri smiles tentatively in the way that only children can after being insulted then comforted then insulted, glancing around the circle of five year olds who're all giving him  _looks_ , like they hate his guts. He gulps again, but then his eyes land on Hana-chan, whose name is burnt sugar, all black and caramel along the edges, and she's still smiling at him, mouthing  _"You can do it!"_

Immediately his heartbeat steadies and he takes a deep breath before slowly, very, very slowly, spreading his legs. His right foot is planted in front of him and he's slowly lowering his left leg, sliding it across the rug even though the scratchy sound leaks an ugly pea green, all liquid-y with chunks of yellow globs floating around. He kind of wishes that he's doing this on Minako-sensei's hardwood floors, but his mother wouldn't want him walking ten minutes all  _alone_ to the studio just to do the splits. He keeps his hips facing forward and his toes are facing forward. His thighs are starting to burn a little bit, but not as bad as when he first started doing these stretches. It takes awhile-one full minute during which he can hear the whispers and snickers of all of Hana-chan's friends, but he tries his best to ignore the acidic colors as he focuses on lowering himself fully down onto the ground.

Finally, he touches the ground, his right leg spread perfectly straight in front of him with his toes pointed up and his left leg spread a little less perfectly straight but still really straight with his toes pointing to the wall.

It's not a perfect split, but Hana-chan squeals egg yolk yellow and tackles him in a hug. "I _knew_ you could do it, Yuuri-kun!"

Yuuri smiles, part embarrassed, part proud. "Thank you," he whispers, the warm words tinting the air in between them a red as light and bright as the blush spreading across his cheeks.

"See, I _told_ you guys!" Hana-chan cries, pulling away from Yuuri to look around at all her friends. "I wasn't lying!"

The girl from before scowls even more, snapping, "That's not a _real_ split, Hana-chan! Look!" 

And before anyone can say or do anything, the girl is hiking the skirts of her dress up to her hips, revealing pink striped underwear as she forces her feet apart, sliding across the carpet and barely sinking two inches before she lets out a high-pitched scream and freezes in place.

Yuuri recoils, throwing his hands over his ears as her screams get higher and higher in pitch, squeezing his eyes as tightly as possible but none of that stops the sudden whirl of colors that cover the backs of his eyelids. In the center is an ugly mess of bright, neon yellow and sickly green, faded gray pulses spreading to create a mesh of unflattering colors that only seem to grow more prominent with every second she continues to scream. 

He doesn't know how long he stands there, hands over his ears, until someone is gently pulling his hands away from his ears and he's looking up through tear blurred eyes and lopsided glasses at the teacher, whose lips are moving around painfully enunciated words, "Are you okay?"

Yuuri breathes deeply, feeling panic set in because he's never talked to the teacher unless it's to answer a question. Talking to the teacher usually means that you did something  _bad_ , and Yuuri thinks that doing the splits and then watching the other girl do the splits might've been a really, really  _bad_ thing to do. "I don't like yellow and green and gray."

He thinks that the teacher would understand (yellow and green and gray are the colors that meant that the girl was screaming, after all, Yuuri doesn't like the girl's  _screaming_ ), but the teacher only smiles confusedly and lightly rubs the top of his head. "Well, you don't have to draw in those colors if you don't want to, Katsuki-kun. You don't have to cry about that."

By now, Yuuri is more confused than ever, so he grabs the teacher's sleeve and jerks it around. " _No_ , I don't like the  _colors_ , sensei. I don't like the  _colors_."

 _There,_ he thinks, rather satisfied,  _that should make sense._

Except, the teacher only smiles confusedly at him again and bends down so he's resting on one knee and his face is level with his own. "If that's the case, Katsuki-kun, you don't have to draw. You can read, or write, or play with any of the toys around here. Lunch is about to end, though, and it seems as though you haven't eaten yet. Maybe you can do all those things after you've finished eating the bento your mother made for you."

Yuuri also doesn't like it when the teacher says "Katsuki-kun." This is because "Yuuri" is an autumn orange, but "Katsuki" is a pale, whitish blue. They're both pretty, but "Katsuki" is for mother and father (and sometimes Mari-nee), and "Yuuri" is for "Yuuri."

"I don't mean  _drawing_ ," Yuuri whines, tugging even more at the teacher's sleeve. "I mean the colors you _hear_. Can't you _hear_ the colors?"

The teacher smiles again, except this time his mouth is twitching and he keeps looking over his shoulder, like he doesn't want to be talking to Yuuri right now. "Of course I can _see_ colors, Katsuki-kun. And of course you mean drawing. Where else would the colors be?"

Yuuri feels like he's been slapped in the face. The teacher smiles for the third time, lightly tugging his sleeve out of Yiuri's slackened grip. "But-but-my name is such a pretty orange! What do you mean, you can't hear the colors?"

By now, the teacher's smile has faded, and his words are a cutting reddish brown. "Is there something wrong, Katsuki-kun? You weren't the one screaming in pain, were you?"

A sudden flash of guilt suddenly streaks through Yuuri as he glances over the teacher's shoulder and catches sight of the girl from before sitting on one of the comfy beanbags reserved for silent reading time. Her hands are pressed to her thighs and fat tears roll down her cheeks, waves of bruised peach skin and flaky chalk resonating.

Yuuri swallows then shakes his head, keeping his eyes on the ground as he teacher pats his head again and then stands, walking towards the crying girl.

Katsuki Yuuri realizes that he isn't normal when he's five years old. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's probably not a good idea to do the splits without stretching fully at first? let's just be glad that yuuri didn't tear his muscles because the plot wouldn't allow him time to make sure that something like that doesn't happen
> 
> update schedule is pretty much nonexistent! that being said, hope you guys enjoy and don't be afraid to let me know what you think (i don't bite)


	2. royal robes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, you guys are freaking awesome! I wasn't expecting this amazing a reception, so props to you guys! Thanks for all the kudos and the bookmarks and the comments and for taking the time to click on this story and check it out!

When Katsuki Yuuri first discovers Viktor Nikiforov, he’s nine and sporting a bruised cheek from falling on ice so often.

He’s sitting on a bench in the lobby of the Ice Castle, stretching a leg out in front of him and holding an ice pack to his right cheek, where he had fallen and slid on a couple minutes ago. It no longer stings so much as it throbs, a dull reminder of how not to spin: on the toe pick.

Yu-chan has finally stopped talking his ear off in favor of fiddling with the player under the TV. Now that her indignant voice isn’t squawking about, the vibrant mix of yellows and browns and violets has disappeared, replaced with the faint pinpricks of monotonous gray that correspond with their breaths and the rustle of their clothes.

In nine years, he’s come a long way when it comes to managing his  _ weirdness _ . He hasn’t breathed a word to anyone about the colors he hears, not since he was five years old and too young to understand what being different really means. By now, he’s learned to make use of the colors that pop up everywhere. He relies less on his hearing and more on the colors. He need only see a flash of the familiar reddish orange (so familiar, in fact, that it’s ingrained into the marrow of his bones) to realize that someone is calling for his attention, and he never forgets a single person’s name or face because they all have specific colors associated with them.

For example, Yu-chan is earthy brown and candy apple green, the anchor to Yuuri’s daydreaming tendencies. His first friend, two years his senior. (And maybe his first crush.) Takeshi-kun is her opposite, all sleek black and whitish silver, and they complement each other so very well. 

Certain words reserve special colors now. “Ballet” is blue, waves pounding upon a white shore, and “Figure Skating” is mauve, flecked with showers of red “Ice.” Certain sounds are now a part of his list as well. Major chords are green, lush valley jeweled with pink wildflowers of the sweet twinklings of a tuned violin. 

Colors are as much a part of him as his nose is or his ears or his butt

A cotton cloud of pink wafts from his right, and Yuuri turns towards the color just in time to see Yu-chan stepping to the side, a proud smile on her face. Yuuri’s attention is immediately caught by the boy on the screen-silver hair tied into a long ponytail that Yuuri’s only ever seen on female figure skaters flowing behind a slender black clad in a black uniform, half male, half female. A skirt falls over his hip as he gracefully lowers his free leg and brings his arm in for a simple jump. 

On the top right corner of the screen, Yuuri reads, “Junior World Championships, Gold, Viktor Nikiforov, Sofia, Bulgaria.”

“Russia’s Viktor Nikiforov…” Yu-chan breathes, awe and appreciation darkening the new shades of color that are being introduced with the foreign name, “He won the gold in the Junior Worlds with the highest score in history!” She jumps excitedly, eyes wide and sparkling with excitement. “He’s so cool!”

On screen, Viktor executes a step sequence, arms coming up and flowing around him in a slow, supple motion as he tilts his head back, silver ponytail following behind his every move.

In that moment, Yuuri is introduced to something  _ new _ .

Something  _ new  _ and  _ beautiful  _ and  _ breathtaking _ .

Viktor Nikiforov’s name is a deep, royal purple, the color of “Figure Skating” but darker and more elegant, as if Viktor has dressed in the essence of the word and made it his own.

It’s instant infatuation.

Katsuki Yuuri discovers Viktor Nikiforov when he’s nine years old.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for the life of me i couldn't figure out what age yuuri was when he started ballet lessons and when he started skating? so in the last chapter i kinda implied he began lessons under Minako at around five, so i'm adding a couple years until he's convinced to take up ice skating. a couple weeks after his first lessons will be when he finds viktor. so that's kinda my timeline reasoning for this chapter
> 
> sorry for the short chapter, but i felt like adding more would destroy the mood and tone i'm trying to convey with this, so i'll just leave it like this
> 
> update schedule is pretty much nonexistent! i write and then i post. and then i smile until my face breaks when i see all the comments and the kudos and the bookmarks. thank you guys so much again!


	3. ceramic cups

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AHHHHHH, sorry for not updating in a long time!!! I kinda hit a wall, but I think I'm a little bit better now. The timeline's still pretty messed up, probably. No way any thirteen year old, no matter how amazing (ahem, Viktor) can get gold in his first year at Junior GP, but fanfic logic. 
> 
> Oh, by the way, I changed Yuuri's age from eight to nine in the last chapter after finding out that only 13-19 year olds can compete in Junior GP. Just letting you guys know.

When Katsuki Yuuri first lands a double toe loop, he’s nine and three quarters and more limber than most girls who skate regularly.

It’s a simple jump that Yu-chan had learned when she was eight, but Yuuri is glowing with excitement and not even Takeshi-kun is heartless enough to burst his bubble.

His first instinct is to run towards the stereo and turn on the music, for colors beyond red splashes of ice and thin lavender embroidery to explode across his vision, because a double toe loop is one of the jumps in Viktor’s free program in this year’s Junior GPF, and even though Viktor technically also landed a slightly under-rotated triple toe in the same program, Yuuri’s spirits are not to be dampened.

He skates face first into the wall.

It’s not the first time and it certainly won’t be the last, but that doesn’t make the jarring sense of his nose and teeth being pushed back by an immovable force as burgundy, thick and smooth, flashes transparently. He falls onto his back and blinks dazedly up at the lights, which are suddenly far too bright and clash far too much with the jarring colors.

It takes a while for him to register the fact that Yu-chan is calling his name, burnished red and orange glowing around her face, which appears in his line of sight, like a halo. “Yuuri!”

He closes his eyes against the bright lighting, but the colors still streak across the backs of his eyelids as Takeshi-kun calls, “Oi, Yuuri, what was that?”

Yu-chan squawks indignantly and incoherently in response, a mix of earthy tones characteristic of her slowly wiping away dirty metallics, and then Yuuri’s opening his eyes, groaning and slowly pushing himself up. “I'm okay. Sorry for worrying you, Yu-chan.”

She immediately jerks her head back to Yuuri, hands fluttering around his body, unsure of where to touch first. Eventually, she settles for pressing one hand against his chest and slipping the other under his back, slowly helping him sit up. His clothes are already being soaked through, the uncomfortable feeling of wet fabric chafing against pale skin itching at him. “Oh, Yuuri...maybe you should take a break. Are you feeling okay? Does your head hurt?” Her hand slips up from his chest to roughly rub across his scalp, and Yuuri blushes slightly, tucking his chin in. “Oh! Sorry, did I hurt you?”

Yuuri’s head jerks up and he shakes it vigorously. The saccharine color of anko seeps out from in between her lips and flows in a thin eddy, and he shakes his head even harder. “Please don’t worry about me! I’m perfectly fine!”

Takeshi-kun skates up to where the two are still on the ice, arms crossed over his chest as he frowns harshly down at Yuuri. “Well if you’re fine, stop hogging Yuuko’s time, fatso!”

Yuuri flinches back, fisting his hands into the soft fabric of his sweatpants, and he’s dimly aware of darker indigos and grays dotting the ice as Yu-chan scolds Takeshi-kun, and he’s grateful, he’s really, really happy that she’s so nice to him, that she cares so much about him, but, well… “I think I’ll stop for today.”

Minako-sensei gave him a key last year, taking him aside after class and slipping the corroded bronze treasure into his pudgy little hand with secret whispers. “Now, don’t let anyone else know that you have this, Yuuri-chan. You want to practice all alone, right?”

Yuuri had nodded eagerly to the tune of muted blues and greens, playful and exaggeratedly quiet. “Yes, Minako-sensei. I will not betray your trust.”

And he hasn’t. Not even to his two best (only) friends.

Yu-chan frowns but nods, calling after him, “I’ll see you tomorrow, then!”

“Why hang out with _him_?” Takeshi-kun grumbles, and Yuuri hurries as fast as he can without worrying Yu-chan anymore than he already has.

Pausing at the exit to the rink, Yuuri fumbles with the guards that had fallen onto the ice as a result of the aftershocks of his collision with the wall before finally managing to snatch them up and lovingly slide them over the blades of his skates, the barely audible click of the guards sliding into place as vibrant as the music Viktor Nikiforov skates to. Except the clicks are a neon green painted with translucent white the color of agar jelly, and Viktor Nikiforov’s music is the rainbow and more.

Yuuri awkwardly runs/shuffles/trips his way towards the lockers, where he spins the combination with fingers far too used to the motion to mess it up and changes out of his soaked ice skating clothing into his ballet clothing. After stowing his skates in the locker and pulling out his bag, he inspects the locker then the surrounding area to makes sure that he hasn’t forgotten anything.

Closing the locker and slipping the lock in place, Yuuri shoulders his bag and jogs over to Minako-sensei’s. There, he slips the first CD he can find into the stereo, and the first strains of Tchaikovsky begin playing, droplets like a fine rain misting over pink petals, and Yuuri’s eyes flutter closed as he stretches, replaying the jump over and over and over again in his head.

Toe pick pricking the edge of the ice, and then he’s launching off the edge, propelling himself forward as he tucks his arms in and the entrance passes by his vision once, twice, and then he’s landing on the same edge, leg instinctively smoothing out as purple streams flow out from the point of origin-

His skates, and it’s figure skating, a reminder of the sport that he has fallen in love, of Viktor Nikiforov, who sweeps the standings of every single competition he has ever entered since the beginning of his career, of Yu-chan and Takeshi-kun and the first and only friends that he’s ever made.

Katsuki Yuuri first lands a double toe loop when he’s nine and three quarters.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> is that how a toe loop is executed? idk, i don't really know anything about figure skating. hope i'm not botching anything too horribly.
> 
> update schedule is nonexistent! so i can update consecutively and then disappear for a month. hopefully that doesn't happen, but i mean, worst case scenarios. anyways, thanks for all the kudos and bookmarks and comments! you guys rock!


	4. silk kimonos

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, it's been a while since my last update. Sorry guys! I lost inspiration, but managed to scrounge something up. You know, I really, really like Mari, and she definitely deserves more screen time for being the awesome older sister she is.

When Katsuki Yuuri first enters a competition, he’s ten years old and five months away from his next birthday.

It’s a small one, hosted in the rink only about half an hour away from Hasetsu by train. Mari-nee and mother go with him, each holding one hand on either side as Mari-nee hums, Yuuri giggling and trying to catch the silvery flakes on his tongue. This stops when he sees a few passersby give him disapproving frowns. Yuuri immediately flushes, shrinking back into Mari-nee’s side. Her humming falters, and Yuuri mourns internally as the glittery flakes that remind him a lot of the snow that always falls from the sky during winter disappear along with her melodious voice. She pulls him closer to her side, shooting baleful glares at all the staring pedestrians, and Yuuri hides his smile by burrowing his head under her armpit. She shrieks, jumping back, and Yuuri’s laughing with delight, forgetting about the presence of other adults and children and normals walking past them. 

Mari-nee knows just what to do because she’s the only one he’s ever told. She’s seventeen years old and as smart as mother and father. She saw him trying to draw what he saw while watching Viktor’s silver-winning short program, and she wouldn’t let it go until he told her about the colors he heard, and how everything Viktor did was as purple as “Figure Skating” and ripe plums. He had been waiting for her to smile at him the way his last pre-school teacher had, to laugh and call him names the way the other children had, except she hadn’t. Instead she sat down next to him and gave him a new sheet of paper and asked him, all serious and wide-eyed, “What about me?”

And so he drew her what he sees when he hears her name, “Mari-nee,” red and green and brown, a mix of solid and soft. He broke two crayons and ended up coloring onto the floor. The scribble is still on those floorboards, faded from repeated scrubbings, and the paper hangs on the headboard of Mari-nee’s bed. Her cherished treasure, she calls it, and when he climbs into her bed at night because he’s scared of all the flickering shadows with red eyes that appear because of the drops of rain on the roof and pavement and onsen, she tells him over and over again that she’ll never lose it, ten, twenty, fifty years away.

She knows just what to say and what sounds to make so that he’ll calm down, and she does them now, snapping her fingers and drumming them on top of his head, making ridiculous coos and laughing the entire way to the ice rink. By the time they reach the front doors, his nerves have long since abandoned him and he’s laughing so hard he feels like his stomach is about to fall off of his body.

They step inside, and he only feels more relaxed when the cold embraces him, a relief from the burning sun outside. There are a lot of people in the lobby, parents and other children just like him. He suddenly feels self-conscious because he’s the oldest one there. 

_ “Most ice skaters your age are already competing in larger competitions,”  _ Minako had said as she readjusted the position of his feet with a whack of her ruler to the backs of his knees.  _ “But since you only started a couple years ago, you aren’t ready for the big leagues.” _

He hadn’t realized how unprepared he is until now, standing next to his older sister in the middle of a sea of children one or two years younger than him. Panic wells up inside of him, all the calmness Mari-nee worked so hard to give him swept away in a flood of  _ what if I mess up? I can barely scrape past the bottom line during practice. What if I fall on every jump? What if I miss my entrance? What if-? _

“Yuuri?”

The boy’s head snaps up instinctively, and Mari-nee’s kneeling down so that she’s at eye-level with him. Her eyes are soft and she lightly taps the top of his head in a familiar rhythm, the beat of “The Lilac Fairy,” the first song Yuuri had ever seen Viktor skate to. She whispers softly into his ear, her voice a soothing green-speckled maroon, deep and earthy and the perfect mix of Mari-nee and Yu-chan. “You’re going to do great. We don’t care if you don’t get first place, Yuuri. We’re all proud of you, no matter what happens.”

“Promise?”

Her fingers flit down, bopping his nose, and she laughs when he does. “Promise.”

When Katsuki Yuuri loses his first competition, he’s ten and five months away from his next birthday.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i really, really like mari, and she definitely deserves more screen time for being the awesome older sister she is. 
> 
> i'm not sure what music viktor was skating to the first time yuuri saw him? wiki says the only known music during viktor's junior skating career is "The Lilac Fairy,", so i made the assumption that it was the same piece. if anyone knows, please feel free to correct me.
> 
> as always, updates are completely random, as you can see by the one and a half month period of no updates. i'll try to get more chapters out sooner, but who knows? thanks for all the support, guys! it really means a lot to me


	5. olive oils

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How has it been 4 months since I last updated??? I was so excited for this story too (still am). Since I'm on summer vacation, hopefully I'll be able to write some more for this fic. I like it too much to just abandon it.

When Katsuki Yuuri first touches a piano, he’s eleven years old and his parents have bought him a year’s worth of private lessons with an instructor who is also a composer for professional ice skaters.

It’s a certain irony (at this time, he’s going through his know-it-all phase, when words like “technicality” and “hypothetically” and “ironic” are just as appealing as landing a double flip without touching down) that they decide to gift him a musical instrument without knowing that he hears in colors.

He presses a single ivory key. A low, deep pitch resonates, green the color of lime and citrus seeming to overlay itself across the shape of his fingers, the texture of syrup-very, very thin syrup.

“That note is an F flat,” a voice rings out from behind Yuuri.

Startled, Yuuri’s hand slips and his palm slaps onto the keys. He winces as a discordant mess of notes reaches his ears, and a vague mist of multiple shades of green and blue swirls over his hands. Jerking his hand back as quickly as possible, Yuuri whirls around, stumbling when his foot catches on nothing and he has to balance himself, once again pressing his palm onto the piano and creating a horrendous sound.

Yuuri smiles awkwardly at the man who stands before him, a dark eyebrow raised above cool eyes. He can’t be any older than thirty, with a clean shaven face, tailored suit that makes Yuuri feel horribly under-dressed in his wrinkled T-shirt and faded jeans, and a tall, lean frame.

“For an aspiring figure skater, you are irredeemably clumsy,” the man states bluntly, and Yuuri’s eyes dart away from his smooth face to his shoulder, where a pretty spot of blue with slight undertones of green rests, seemingly in the shape of a diamond.

 _He sounds like a piano_ , Yuuri thinks in awe, lightly pressing on a random note behind him. As it rings out, the man’s eyebrow inches further up his forehead and he scoffs, “Is this the brat that I’ve decided to dedicate an hour to every Monday and Wednesday for the rest of the year?”

And yes, it’s almost an exact replica, the dulcet sounds and the aqua colors. Yuuri has never heard, never _seen_ , something like this-

Except Viktor Nikiforov.

“Can you please teach me how to compose a song for my skating program?” Yuuri blurts out, staring at the man with sparkling eyes.

He blinks, clearly taken aback. After a moment, he huffs, straightening out the flaps of his suit. “Well. At least you know what you want. It’s not easy, you know. You still want to do this?”

“Yes!” Yuuri nods enthusiastically, turning his head back to stare at the keyboard, glistening and shining under the warm lighting. He thinks that maybe figure skating isn’t the only beautiful thing in the world. “I would like to very much.”

When Katsuki Yuuri first touches a piano, he’s eleven years old and learning that there are more things than figure skating in this world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i think i have something exciting planned for that point in canon when yuuri asks his friend to make an original composition for his free skate...very, very exciting. hopefully i'll be able to get to that part within this year!
> 
> as always, updates are sporadic and random and i am very apologetic about this 4 month wait. i don't even know if anyone remembers what has happened. anyone who got this far, i applaud you. you guys are awesome and i appreciate you!


	6. caramelized onions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woah, an update within the same week??? Crazy, right? Tbh though, the only reason this came out was because of all the sweet comments and support that you all have given this fic. Thank you all so much, and I hope you enjoy!

When Katsuki Yuuri first wins a competition, he’s eleven years old and Hasetsu is blanketed in December snow.

The competition itself actually is  _ not  _ hosted in Hastesu. It’s in a larger town a train ride away that boasts  _ two  _ skating rinks, both of them at least double the size of the Ice Castle. Yuuri’s head swivels on his neck as he tries to take in everything he hears.

He’s more than eleven years old, and the colors have faded. Not faded, per se, but he doesn’t mind all the colors that paint themselves across his field of vision whenever he hears a sound. In fact, he doesn’t mind them  _ so  _ much, he doesn’t even notice their existence until Mari-nee squeals right next to him, apparently having caught sight of a limited edition tank top of her favorite K-pop band in the window of a secluded little shop, and the ear-piercing decibel manifests itself in an intense red that has him blinking the flakes of red syrup the next few minutes.

Yuuri is disconcerted, and stays as far away from his older sister the rest of the walk to the ice rink.

This time, when he enters the cold lobby, his heart is pounding a steady beat in his chest. The usual anxiety that arises at times like this lays dormant under his skin, because he’s eleven now, and age usually doesn’t really mean anything to him (just another chance at disappointing himself and the people around him), but he’s been practicing for at least half a year since his last competition. Between now and then, he’s participated in several more, and he’s consistently been placing in Top Three. He’s yet to feel the plastic gold medal hanging around his neck, but as anxious as Yuuri is, he’s also patient.

Not to mention, he’ll be skating to an original composition by Ieyasu-sensei (Yuuri thinks his piano teacher likes him, and that’s why he’s letting an eleven year old skate to a restrung version of one of his most popular classical pieces).

Yuuri’s ready.

Before he can join the rest of the eleven (and twelve) year olds as they wait to go on the ice, Mari-nee slings an arm around his shoulders. Their parents have already left, probably to get some food then go find some seats, and now it’s just Mari-nee and Yuuri, just like it’s always been.

Just like it always will be (even though she just turned eighteen and will be going off to college next year).

“I love you, you know that?” Mari-nee whispers softly, gently rocking Yuuri in between her arms. He closes his eyes, nodding. The colors are more prominent, painted against the backs of his eyelids, and it’s probably wishful thinking that the strokes of red and green form a heart (a lopsided one at that). “I love you, Yuu-chan, and just because I’m not going to be living with you starting next year doesn’t mean I won’t visit and ask you to draw the new song by Leessang, okay? Anyone who wants to make fun of you for dancing and skating and playing the piano, you send them to me, all right? You call me, and I’ll always pick up, just for you, Yuu-chan. You call me, and I’ll drop everything I’m doing to talk to you. I love you so much, Yuu-chan.”

Yuuri doesn’t want to think about Mari-nee leaving. Most boys his age with older sisters still have years to spend with them. Yuuri doesn’t have years. He only has months. And he hadn’t really been planning on crying, but here he is, tearing up because Mari-nee has always known what to say, and the red and brown and green warmth that envelops him can’t  _ possibly  _ be a figment of his imagination. “I love you, Mari-nee, and I’ll win today. I’ll win and prove to you that I love you.”

Mari-nee laughs, and Yuuri marvels at how strong she is, because she isn’t even crying even though a flood rains from his eyes and puddles on the ground. She squeezes his cheeks painfully in between her hands, a smile lighting up her pretty face. “You don’t have to prove anything to me. But if you don’t win, I’ll have your hide. I want to see my baby brother win at least once before I skip town.”

Yuuri laughs wetly, not protesting that she called him her “baby” brother even though he’s eleven years and one month old. “I’ll win. You’ll see.”

And for once, something goes right, and Yuuri is standing in the middle, smiling so widely his cheeks are hurting as the cheap, plastic gold medal that he probably could’ve ordered off the Internet dangles from his neck, right over his steadily beating heart.

The applause and shouts and cries rings through his head, and he’s giddy on the burnt amber of approval. He could get used to this.

When Katsuki Yuuri first wins a competition, he’s eleven years old and in less than a year he’ll be an only child. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so i don't think mari's birthday was ever actually revealed, so i made it some time in december because plot. also, since her background isn't very well developed, i took some liberties with what she did pre-canon. but honestly, this entire fic is taking liberties with canon, so, whatever.
> 
> as always, updates are random, sporadic, and not even i can predict them. but hopefully, this summer will follow the trend of multiple updates within the same week! that'd be awesome, right?


	7. rose quartz

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so umm...i have no excuses? just kind of ran out of inspiration for all my fics...but hopefully i'll be able to update more chapters before this year is over! i wonder if anyone's still reading this...

When Katsuki Yuuri first discovers a word for what the colors blooming along the edges of his vision when he hears a sound, he’s twelve years old and experiencing his first growing pains.

Ice skating isn’t fun when every twitch of his leg sends uncomfortable pain shooting through his spine. At some point, even the familiar sprays of red annoy him more than they comfort him. Yu-chan is the first to realize what’s going on and sends him home with a scowl on her face and hands planted firmly on her hips. She even calls ahead to the onsen with the ice rink’s phone, so there’s no way that Yuuri can’t  _ not  _ go straight home.

Trudging down the street with his hands stuffed into his pockets and chin buried into his scarf, Yuuri takes the time to look- _ really  _ look at his hometown. It’s still winter, but almost spring. The watery sun manages to melt small patches in the snowbanks, and Yuuri practices his jumps by leaping over the puddles. He trips a lot, and ends up soaking his pants and half his shirt. 

He’s giggling at the feeling of damp fabric sticking to his skin when the tinkling of cool green snakes across his vision. He turns towards the source, watching as a couple steps out of the local bookshop, its bell ringing as the door swings open and shut. 

Without thinking, Yuuri trudges across the street, enjoying the dirty gray of half-melted snow sloshing around his boots. No sane person would be driving a car with the streets like this. The bookshop looks warm and inviting, and Yuuri can just barely see the faintest strains of pink violin. His mother probably won’t be expecting him until a while later, since there’s so much snow around. He can afford a small detour.

The bell tinkles green above him as he enters the bookshop. There’re no other colors besides that of the violin music playing softly in the background. He winds his way through the tall bookshelves, wide eyes taking in the sheer number of books. He’s never seen so many in the same place!

Eventually, he emerges out of the forest of books. A round-faced girl sitting behind a counter with a bored look on her face glances up briefly before looking back down at the manga she’s reading. There are a couple more people browsing through the cluttered shelves. There’s a large poster behind the girl, written out in childish handwriting and colored like a rainbow. 

_ Syn-es-the-si-a?  _

“Umm...what does that word mean?”

The girl glances up, slightly startled at the way Yuuri’s orange and red words interrupt the silence. “Huh?” She reminds him of Takeshi-kun, all metallic and sharp edges. Yuuri swallows before timidly repeating his question. She glances behind her at the poster. “Oh, that. It’s the word of the day. Synesthesia. It’s a mental condition in which some people’s brains are wired differently. Synesthetes have senses that are simultaneously perceived. For example, someone can read the word ‘apple’ and taste ham. It’s pretty cool, actually. I wonder what it’s like, being able to taste words or see sounds.”

She glances back down at her phone, leaving Yuuri reeling in the bookstore.

That’s...he has that, right? Does he have synesthesia? He sees sounds. He’s always known he was different, but he never knew there was a word for it.

“Synesthesia.” The word rolls quietly off his tongue, pale pink and perfectly shaped. He stares at the bright red “S” and the indigo “A.” “Umm...do you have any books about synesthesia here?”

When Katsuki Yuuri first discovers a word for what the colors blooming along the edges of his vision when he hears a sound, he’s twelve years old and eager to learn more. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as you guys probably already know, i have no update schedule! i'll definitely try to update again before 2018 tho. and get this story moving along. i kind of like that a lot of yuuri's childhood is unexplored, cause then i get more leeway with what i do with him in junior tournaments and stuff


End file.
